


Croque's Hidden Talents

by Python07



Series: More Than Meets the Eye [1]
Category: Jack of All Trades (TV)
Genre: Crack, Drunken Kissing, M/M, my mind is a strange place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4891561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Python07/pseuds/Python07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack catches a glimpse of some of Croque's hidden talents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Croque's Hidden Talents

The music was pleasant but faint. The taste of champagne was still on his tongue but he didn’t have a drink. When had he disappeared from the party?

The room was decorated in an understated, yet elegant, style full of warm vibrant colors and soft cushions. The bed he was sitting on was soft. The sheets fisted in his hands were of the highest quality. The smell in there was cleaner, less flowery, than he was used to in this joint.

The whole room was so at odds with the rest of the palace. Camille must not have decorated it. An official French Empire decorator must not have decorated it. It lacked that particular brand of French bombast so favored by the Emperor Napoleon.

It was nice. Calming. Warm. He didn’t remember seeing it before. Why was there a room in this palace that neither he nor Emelia knew about? 

Some spies they were.

His mind was a jumble, instinctively taking in everything but making no sense of it. In the privacy of his own head, he could admit it was because of the tongue smoothly and skillfully ravaging his mouth. He moaned low in his throat.

He and Emelia had traded a few kisses in the past. They were always hot, but nothing like this, nothing that sent lightning through his veins. That wonderful mouth’s owner hadn’t even touched him yet and he could only wonder if the hands were equally as talented.

The lips eased away. He groaned at the loss and tried to follow. There was an amused chuckle and warm breath against his lips. “You have experience, yes, Jack?” a familiar French accent purred. 

“Yeah.” Jack frowned. A male voice. Really? He wasn’t as worked up about that as he should be. But still. “Well,” he hedged and then rambled on. “Not a lot. I…I can admit to batting for both teams on occasion…when the situation called for it…when I had no choice, you understand, for God and country and all that jazz, but I’m all man.” 

A forehead rested against Jack’s. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

“You want a demonstration, Govey?” Jack’s hands moved of their own volition. He ran his fingers down a chest covered in expensive linen and silk. 

Croque slapped Jack’s hands away. “You are a naughty boy and naughty boys are not allowed to touch.”

Jack hissed and jerked his hands away. He folded his arms across his chest. “Hey.”

Croque chuckled again. “Stop…what is the wording…faire la moue.”

Jack perked up at the French. “What?”

Croque playfully nipped at Jack’s bottom lip. “Pouting.” 

“I do not pout.” Jack finally opened his eyes without realizing when he’d closed them in the first place. He pulled back just enough to see Croque’s flushed amused face. It wasn’t the usual condescending smirk, just a warm smile, and he had to take a deep breath before he could voice his voice. “Okay, that’s weird.”

Croque quirked an eyebrow. His smile had a drunken edge. “What do you find so strange?”

“I never realized that your accent is so hot before.”

“Is that so?” Croque leaned in close to Jack’s ear. “Je vous remercie, mon ami.” 

Jack shuddered. “I don’t know what you just said but keep talking.”

Croque licked the shell of Jack’s ear. “Est-ce que vous voulez entendre, mon petit singe?” 

Jack clamped his hands down tight on the sheets. “Oh, God.” 

Croque nuzzled the side of Jack’s neck. “Vous sentez comme le café et la poudre à Canon. Elle est enivrante.”

“Sounds so hot.” Jack let out a shaky breath. He unconsciously tilted his head to the side. “Keep talking, Croqey. Please. It’s really turning my crank if you know what I mean.”

Croque laughed quietly and nosed along Jack’s jaw. He whispered against Jack’s skin. “Si je savais que les Français ont un tel effet sur vous, j'ai serait avez testé dehors plus tôt.” 

The touch was light and firm, but not quite enough. The voice was low and rough, nothing like Croque’s normal tones. It was all delightfully frustrating. “What’s going on?” Jack whined. “You usually sound so pretentious. Sometimes, I just want to punch you in the face.” 

Croque sharply nipped Jack’s earlobe. “Ce n'est pas agréable.”

Jack started and groaned in pleasure. “Do that again.”

“No.” Croque sat back and folded his arms across his chest. He was the picture of the prim and proper governor, complete with his powdered wig. He clothes were still perfect as was his wig. The only difference from his normal appearance was the flush in his cheeks. 

Jack gaped at Croque. “No,” he repeated dumbly.

Croque stuck his nose in the air. “I think it best if you leave, Jack.”

Jack jerked, stung. “Hey, wait a minute, Frenchy. You don’t get me all hot and bothered and--” His stopped abruptly at Croque’s icy glare. He’d never seen it before and it was just something else that added more octane to the fuel in his engine.

“This was a mistake,” Croque said formally. “We both had too much champagne.”

Jack threw his hands up in surrender. “Not too much. Not too much. Just enough.”

Croque pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a frustrated sigh. “Jack.”

“Look, I’m sorry. It just slipped out.” Jack waited but Croque didn’t reply and didn’t look at him. He lightly nudged him and offered a bright smile. “Come on, Croque-ster. We’re both all hot and bothered. Let’s do it for American/French relations.”

Croque smiled tightly and dropped to that sultry purr that Jack liked so much. “Stand at the foot of the bed, Jack.”

Jack arched his eyebrows suggestively. “Say it in French.”

Croque smirked. “Debout au pied du lit, Jack.”

Jack jumped to his feet. He swaggered the two steps. He puffed his chest out for Croque. “Now, what?”

Croque waved. “Say au revoir.”

The puzzled au revoir barely made it past Jack’s lips before the trapdoor beneath his feet went out from under him. He slid down a dark tunnel, crying out in joy, not terror. The ride abruptly ended when he was dumped out of the chute into the pond in the back garden of the palace. 

He made a gigantic splash, startling all of the ducks and swans. He came to the surface, spluttering for air. He peered at the house, but couldn’t see the hatch he came out of. 

“Not only a secret room, but a secret trap door and tunnel,” he muttered as a slow smile crossed his face. “Color me intrigued.”

An irate duck quacked at him. He splashed at it and then grinned back at the palace. “This isn’t over, Frenchy.”

**Author's Note:**

> French translations (provided by Bing translator):  
> Je vous remercie, mon ami. -- Thank you, my friend.  
> Est-ce que vous voulez entendre, mon petit singe? -- Is this what you want to hear my little monkey?  
> Vous sentez comme le café et la poudre à Canon. Elle est enivrante. -- You smell like coffee and gunpowder. It’s intoxicating.  
> Si je savais que les Français ont un tel effet sur vous, j'ai serait avez testé dehors plus tôt. -- If I knew French had such an effect on you, I would've tested it out sooner.  
> Ce n'est pas agréable. -- That’s not nice.


End file.
